A Thousand Years
by EleanorLovett55
Summary: The story of their love is 500 years in the making. If only they would just stop dying on each other. Sweenett.


**A/N: The plot bunnies just wouldn't leave me alone on this one. Just some ooey gooey Sweenett fluff. Enjoy!**

XXX

1760s

She sighs as she sips from her glass of wine. The ball that her father has thrown is incredibly lavish, and utterly boring. She idly wonders how much longer she has to wait until she can go back to her room when she spots him.

He is devilishly handsome, and he gives her a small smirk as he watches her from across the room. He is the general of her father's army men, and she bites her lip as he makes his way over to her. There is something special about him, she knows it.

He asks her for a dance and she accepts, spending the rest of the night in his arms as they gracefully twirl around the dance floor. He comes to her father the next day to ask for permission to court her, and he is surprisingly not turned away. Their courtship is full of tender kisses and hands that roam a bit more than propriety says they should, but all the same, she loves him for it.

Their courtship comes to an end after only 3 months, when he is shipped off to fight in some war, and is killed in battle. She weeps for days on end, and is only given a small box which held the ring he planned on proposing to her with.

XXX

1800s

She has come to this 'New World' to meet her uncle, who has a prosperous plantation on one of the islands. She admires their beauty from afar, but once they actually step onto land, she is immediately disgusted. The colonies are like mini versions of the motherland, and just as filthy, if not more so.

She is ushered into a carriage, and she pouts for the entire hour long drive it takes to reach his plantation. When she arrives, her uncle greets her, but all she can see is the awful treatment of the men and women he had working for him. It finally becomes too much when she sees one of the men whipping a dark skinned man.

She runs up and pushes him out of the way, throwing her arms out to protect the bleeding, sobbing person.

"What's the matter with you? Move," the overseer commands.

She may have thought him handsome once, but all she can see now is the ugly way in which he treats these poor men and women.

"No. What right do you have to treat him so? Isn't he a man just as you are? Shall I whip you into submission?" she asked venomously.

"They aren't men. They are beasts," he replied, his nostrils flaring.

"And who told you that? As far as I can see, he has two arms, two legs, ten fingers and ten toes, two eyes, ears, a nose and mouth. He looks every bit a man," she said icily.

"Who do you think you are, little girl?" he spits.

"I happen to be the niece of your employer," she spits backs, "I suggest you go and leave me to fix the mess you've made."

He nearly growls, but stalks away.

She turns and helps the dark skinned man up, going so far as to take him all the way up to her bedroom to clean his wounds.

'Ease up on the lashings,' her uncle says after her spectacle.

After that she flaunts herself in the fields, giving the men and women water to drink, caring for the little children who were forced to cut cane, and showing to him that she would not let anymore injustice come to harm these people. In a way, he admires her, admires her strength and boldness, and of course, her beauty. He asks her one day, why she cares about the slaves. Because they are people too, she tells him, and I know that I would not want to be treated like this.

He falls in love with her.

They like to meet secretly, at night, to kiss and hold one another. And then, one night, as he is waiting under what they had deemed 'their tree', he heard the loud pow! Of a gun. He rushed towards the front of the house, and is nearly bowled over by a running man. He grabs him, positive that he had something to do with the noise. When he reaches the front steps to the house, he is greeted with a ring of people and pooling lamplight. He shoves the man he caught into the arms of a stableboy, and falls to his knees. She is lying there, oh so beautiful, and oh so dead. Blood pools mercilessly from the wound in her side.

They shot her because of her beliefs. She was making the slaves restless for their emancipation.

He is inconsolable.

XXX

1930s

He is a soldier fighting in a special reserve of forces in World War Two. Things are dull, and he idly polishes his gun as he listens to the chatter around him. Some call them special agents, the ones who take missions to try to find information that could end the war. He doesn't know, he's just a part of the security detail. The men around him are abuzz, some new MI6 agents were coming in today, and they were most likely to bring their female secretaries with them. Although why agents needed secretaries preceded him. Each man was to be assigned an agent to protect whenever they went into the field.

Office at the end of the hall, they say to him when they are assigning agents. He opens the door to find a pretty redhead behind the desk, neatly organising all the papers and other things on her desk.

"Are you my security?" she asks, a look on her face that says she means business.

"I- I guess so," he replies with a shrug. It is the first time he has ever stuttered when answering a woman.

"Excellent. I have a mission on Friday. You're to meet me at the airstrip at 0300," she tells him briskly.

"Yes ma'am," he replies to her crisp British tones, and turns on his heel to leave.

He falls in love with her, for the crisp efficiency she completed her tasks with, for her no nonsense manner, for the bright slash of red lipstick she painted on her full lips every morning, for the ruby red curls she pins in victory rolls. She loves him for the way he does not leer at her, and for the surprisingly honest soldier he makes. She loves him for his dry humour, and the glint he gets in his eyes every so often, the one that lets her know that he adores her.

They are working a mission together, when their building is unexpectedly blown up before they can get out. Her last action is to pull him into a searing yet tender kiss before their worlds both go black.

XXX

It is the 60s, and they are comfortably seated in a field, she with her head propped on his lap, making daisy chains as he plays with her hair. They are both more than a little stoned, but hey, everyone around them is too.

"You know, the first time I saw you, I could swear I had seen your face before. It was like…I knew you before we even met," she told him, looking past the flowers in her hands to meet his curious eyes with hers.

He laughs. "Yeah, if you actually believed in that stuff," he replies, his fingers sending a pleasant shiver down her spine when they gently ran down her neck.

"No, really. And then, I started having these weird dreams, and I'd see us in all these weird clothes… I think at one point you were a soldier," she tells him.

"Pet, I don't think I'm going to let Billy give you any more of his 'special' brew," he tells her, slightly worried.

"Aw, but where's the fun in that?" she asks with a pout.

He laughs and leans down to kiss her, when there's a shout from the edge of the field.

"Come on, lovebirds! Bill says we're heading to the next town over!"

Too bad Bill had had too much of his own 'special' brew, and their entire van went over a cliff.

XXX

2014

He wakes up one morning in a cold sweat.

He remembers, he remembers everything. He has lead so many lives, and they all revolve around her. He doesn't even know who she is, only that his life is incomplete without her. He stands restlessly, pulling on a pair of dark jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and a pair of black sneakers. He grabs up his cellphone and coat, before heading out.

His mind is captivated by this strange turn of events. He can't get the image of her out of his head. One where she's in a corset, eying him flirtatiously from across the room. Another where's she's yelling at him. Another, she's dressed in army green, her hair done up in victory rolls and her mouth a bright red slash. The last, where she's wearing a yellow sundress and her head is in his lap.

His mind is so muddled he doesn't even realise he's in the middle of the road until the car hits him.

XXX

He wakes up, miraculously.

His head is fuzzy and he aches all over, but he's alive. He looks around and realises he's in a hospital room, with the beep of machines and the slightly uncomfortable bed underneath him. He looks up when the door to his room opens.

And in she walks.

She's jotting something down on a clipboard, chomping on her lip as she concentrates. Her hair is a semi-neat wave of red curls that fall around her shoulders, starkly contrasted by the white of her coat. She looks up and their eyes meet and she gives him a brief smile.

In that moment, he's sure that he's dead. Because only an angel like her could exist in heaven.

"Mr. Todd, is it? Welcome back to the land of the living," she jokes as she comes to stand by his bed. He can only stare at her. Even her voice is like pure honey.

At his odd stare she looks slightly unnerved.

"Okay then… I'm Dr. Lovett; I'm the surgeon who operated on you. You have three fractured ribs, a broken leg and a bit of internal bleeding. But we've fixed you up, so you'll be right as rain before you know it," she says, an attempt at being cheery.

He gives a slow nod to show that he understands. Then, "Do I know you?"

She cocks her head to the side, and gives a little chuckle. "I don't think so. I think I'd remember a face like yours," she replies.

His insides freeze.

She doesn't remember.

"Oh," he says.

She looks at him bit oddly but merely waves it off.

"Okay, so we're going to have to hold you for a few days, before you can go home. Is there anyone we can call for you in the meantime?" she asks.

"Um…yeah, my roommate, Tim," he says, his voice still rough.

"Sure. Alright, I'll be back in a few hours to check on you again, Mr. Todd," she tells him.

He gives her a slow nod, and she fixes him with a smile before leaving.

He leans back with a heavy sigh.

She doesn't remember.

XXX

Tim comes to visit him some days, and on his fourth day, they discharge him. During this period of time, he only sees Dr. Lovett a handful of times, and each time he does, it tugs on his heartstrings.

"I have to say Todd, you really fucked yourself up this time," Tim remarks as they drive home.

"Well, it's not like I wanted to get run over," he replies in annoyance.

"Your doctor though," he gives a low whistle, "never seen a woman like that."

Todd grits his teeth in annoyance.

"Do you think she'd go out with me?"

"No, frankly I don't, Tim. She's a bloody doctor. You're a couch potato that smells like stale beer and sex with cheap whores," Todd replies bluntly, pressing his pounding head against the cool glass of the window.

Tim laughs roughly. "Love your bluntness, Todd. But you're probably right, she probably prefers that suave, tall, dark and handsome fella," Tim replies.

Todd sighs in relief as he sees their apartment complex comes into focus. He'd rather not think about anything to do with Dr. Lovett until he has a properly formulated plan.

XXX

*Six weeks later*

"Well, it seems that leg of yours is well on its way to mending perfectly, Mr. Todd," she told him as she noted something on her clipboard. "You'll have to take it easy on those ribs though, they'll be tender for a while longer."

"Of course. Thank you for your help, Doctor," he replies.

She looks at him from under her lashes with a small smile, before going back to her notes.

"You know, I was wondering, Doc, whether you might want to maybe catch a movie, have a couple of drinks a night…?"

"Hmm…I like dinner," she tells him, arching her brow at him.

"Dinner is good too," he says quickly, and her smile is more of a smirk.

"Excellent." She tears a piece of paper and jots her number down on it. "Call me," she murmurs as she slips the paper into his short pocket. With that, she gives him one last smile before turning and leaving.

XXX

Their dinner is a wonderful affair, at one of the more prestigious restaurants in town. He's dressed smartly in a suit, no tie. And she in her little black dress: the one that draws his eyes to more than a little of her pale thighs, and more than a bit of her cleavage.

She laughs at something he said, giving him a smile that screams of seduction as she picks up her wine glass. The waiter comes to clear away their dishes from dessert, and he excuses himself to settle their bill. They walk to his car hand in hand, her small, pale hand nestled in the crook of his arm.

When they reach her apartment block, he offers to walk her upstairs to her place. She agrees with a ready smile, and they make small talk as they climb the stairs.

"I've just realised that you know what work I do for a living, but I have no idea what work you do," she says when they're on the third floor.

"Well…I'm a film director. I'm only in town for a few months on break. This is my hometown," he tells her.

"That's cool. Huh, I've never met anyone in the film industry," she replies, flashing him a gorgeous smile.

"Well, this is it," she says when she reaches her door, turning to face him.

"I had a really nice time tonight," she tells him, biting her lip a bit.

"I did too. Maybe we can do this again," he replies, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Mhm," she mumbles, one pale hand suddenly coming and grasping his white dress shirt in the middle, the other fumbling for the door behind her. She pulls him into her apartment, her hands immediately running up to smooth over his broad shoulders and wrap around his neck.

He grunts slightly and pulls her to him tightly, wrapping two arms around her tiny waist. He leans down and kisses down her neck, running his tongue seductively against her collarbone.

She gasps slightly, managing to grunt out, "Always thought you were handsome, from the minute I'd laid eyes on you…" she accompanies this with another groan as he fumbles with the zipper on her dress before smoothing large hands over the soft skin on her back, still licking and kissing at her neck.

Her shaking fingers hastily undo the buttons on his shirt, pushing both shirt and jacket to the floor as she starts manoeuvring them to her bedroom. The backs of her knees hit her bed and he pushes her down onto it, slipping out of his trousers and shoes before joining her. She looks up at him in naked anticipation, her cheeks flushed prettily and her eyes bright with lust.

He leans down and presses his lips to hers, shocked at the electric feeling running through his blood when he does so.

She gasps against his mouth and stiffens, her fingers clenching against his shoulders tightly.

When he pulls away to breathe heavily, she looks up at him with tears welling in her eyes.

"W-what's wrong?" he asks her, afraid he'd done something wrong.

"Oh, Sweeney, is it really you, my love?" she asks, reaching up a hand to press against his cheek. He shudders and grabs her hand. In the fifteen seconds it took for him to kiss her, she had remembered.

"Do you remember? Eleanor? Do you?" he asks quietly, searching the hazel depths of her eyes.

"I do. I remember everything. I remember you," she replies breathlessly.

Overwhelmed, he leans down and presses his lips passionately against hers, practically trying to swallow her.

"My love…" he whispers breathlessly, arms wrapping tighter around her, his face burying against the pale skin of her neck.

"Never, never leave me again," she replies, her mouth close to his ear.

"Never, my love, never. I will be with you always," he tells her firmly, pressing a kiss behind her ear to cement the words coming from his mouth.

"I love you," she says, her own arms wrapping tightly around him, never wanting to let him go.

"I love you, my light, my joy, my world," he says.

He kissed her, and finally, their journey to find each other had ended.


End file.
